In Repose Blog

Farewell Sweet Dante

He was our last little ratty boy. He was over three years old. In human years, that made him about 100. Many rats die of old age at a mere two years. Over the years we have had seven fancy rat pets. Dante was the oldest of them all.

He'd been alone in the grotto since  Cielo  died a few months ago. I took him out most mornings and put him in my lap while I drank coffee and checked email. I would give him a grape or a nut for his own breakfast. He was such a sweet little boy who gave many rat kisses and cuddles.

His health had always been robust until a few days ago. I wrestled a little bit about the option of taking him to the vet, but I didn't in the end. I didn't want his, and our last memory to be of a cold silver table and a needle piercing his heart. He was not in pain, and I actually had some ratty pain meds in my fridge just in case.

I basically held him and stayed with him since last Friday. Lauren took turns too. Each night when I put him in the grotto I truthfully expected to find him still and cold the next morning. Even this morning, I did not find him that way. Somehow he was still moving around,and I amazingly found him standing on his hind legs attempting to climb into his favorite hammock.  I put him on the hammock and went to make coffee. I was surprised he was still alive as he had refused food or water and had been getting so much weaker.

I was going to then get dressed and hold him after other chores when I decided not to wait. I took him to the sink and used warm water to wash his eyes and nose and groom his little head with a soft paper towel. I wrapped him in a fuzzy cloth and carried him with me as even in my nightclothes I gave hay to my horses and fed the dogs and the cats. I just finshed those chores when I sat down to re-wrap the little boy's blanket. He grabbed my finger gently,then groomed his eyes twice. He looked at me and then really stretched his whole body long, and gave a great big yawn.  He looked at me one more time and sighed. I held my hand over him and felt the shimmering of his soul detaching.

He was gone.

Dante managed to do just what his brother Cielo did, which was hang on overnight and wait to be with me during his transition over to the next world.

I had asked the angels for this gift for both of us.

Thank you Archangels Raphael and Azrael.

"Abundant Wildlife" Part 2

I didn't figure it would be pleasant taking the dead thing out of Cowboy's mouth, but I didn't expect to have half a cat skull in my hand, either.  It was the nose, muzzle, whiskers, complete jaw and teeth of a fairly young black long haired cat.

The whiskers were long and white and still pristinely beautiful. Poor thing.

Immediately, of course I started to wonder if in my hand was a piece of the remains of my beautiful long haired black cat Ashlee, who disappeared Halloween 2006.

Ashlee's photo by Candace Craw-Goldman Copyright 2006

You might think that too long of a time for there to be any remains left to be found. Especially if she was eaten by the coyotes. Which I am positive that she was. But I have walked and ridden in these same hills for more than 6 years now. Some parts of creatures hang around for a long while. Bones, of course, but hides can too. This was half a skull with the hide dried on. All flesh was long since gone.

Ashlee came to our family a full grown stray who had two very strong traits. One, she would NOT wear a collar. If by some means we were able to hold her down and put one on her, she would spin like the Tasmanian devil, dive under the sofa and only re-appear when collarless. I have never seen anything like it in a cat. I tried every possible way to collar that cat. Nothing worked.

The second trait she had was absolute insistence of being let outside. If we did not let her out, she would shoot out the door like greased lightening when you least expected it. I have owned cats my whole life and never before or since have I seen a cat that could escape like Ashlee. There was no keeping her inside. Its no wonder she was a stray!

Ashlee loved being outside. She would rub and purr and meow with pure pleasure against our legs...when she was in the yard. She lived for those hours in the sun. Usually, she did not go very far.

It worried me terribly that she would go outside but I always made sure she was indoors at night. I was fearful of the coyotes and the cars that drive so fast down our little road. But that October in 2006 I could not find her before we had to leave that evening. I knew in my heart that next morning what must have had happened. I searched for hours. I searched for days. I searched as much of the valley as I could, on foot and on horseback.

I don't blame the coyotes. I really don't. Many people want to just eliminate them, just shoot them.

Well, I don't really like how brave some of them have gotten, but, gee...we moved into THEIR world to live in the country. I actually am pleased they are here to thin out some of our over population of deer, and hopefully the opossums too, because those critters carry a fatal horse disease I am very afraid of.

The coyotes are only trying to survive. And each new house built in this valley or on top of the hill removes habitat that previously supported their natural lives here. A cat looks as much like dinner to a coyote as a cottontail rabbit I would guess. They have to eat something to survive.

I found a piece of beautiful yellow silk and a box to wrap the skull and I asked my husband to bury it for me. He thinks the fur was too brown, and the skull too small to be Ashlee. But Ashlee's fur was tinged brown, and visible in the right light. Also skulls always are smaller without the flesh remaining. It could be a different cat, but I don't think so.

In any case, what was left of this kitty was given a proper burial in the yard among the rest of our beloved pets who have crossed the rainbow bridge.

Francie is Dying.

Outside, right now in the chicken "hospital coop"

Francie has been sick for a few days and I have been washing her, medicating her and trying my best to take care of her. Yesterday she was walking around and pecking normally. This morning, well, she hasn't really moved at all. She tried, and she fell down and there she stays.

I keep checking on her, certainly, she will be dead very soon.

Its sad.

One interesting thing has been watching the other animals. They have been gathering around her. First the horses came. The big paint gelding came first. The grey mare came and blinked too, but did not come as close. The dun filly came with the donkey and watched her for a long while. The filly left and the donkey stayed even longer.

When they left the dogs came and wandered around the coop for a while.

When the dogs went to the porch the cats came next and laid calmly facing her.

The chickens came after that and the cats followed me inside when I went to get the camera.

The small brown lump on the left is Francie. The black and white pollish chicken in the middle is Sophia and she is still, as I type this, pacing back and forth in front of the hospital coop watching Francie. The other brown chicken is Blanche, Francie's sister. (Unfortunately as I took this photo I saw signs that Blanche too, may also be ill.)

All morning I have considered the idea of wringing Francie's neck...putting her out of her misery. Would that be the kindest thing to do for her? Is she, in fact, miserable? Who knows? I know she is weak. I know she appears peaceful.

What I also know is I got to watch a well ordered, well timed procession of 12 different animals come to Francie and take note of her presence and of her dying. Animals know death. They can smell it coming. Did they come to say good-bye?

I think they did.

I pet Francie's soft feathers and thanked her for all the sage green eggs she gave our family. I said good-bye too.

John Lennon Died 27 Years ago Today

I think John would have been OK about being our little rat boy's namesake. After all, our Lennon was sweet, wise, courageous and fun to be around.

Both of them died suddenly and before their time. John's death affected the world. Lennon's death affected my and Lauren's world.

Yoko Ono writes a letter to John and you can view some video of him by clicking on the link below.

Imaginepeace.com

How Not to Kill a Rat

Having domesticated rats as pets, my daughter and I find it very hard to walk down certain aisles of the grocery store.

Seeing the label RAT POISON to me now just turns my stomach. It feels to us  like reading labels that say CAT POISON or KITTEN KILLER or DOGGIE DESTROY. (And perhaps the rat poison should add those words to their label too, because rat poison will kill any creature unfortunate enough to ingest it, not only rats.)

However, just because I have a tiny little grotto and rat-ling friends in my house, does not mean that I want field rats taking up residence in my attic or my garage. I most certainly DO NOT.

There is a wonderful, natural, very effective solution to the horrendously cruel poison sold to control rats and mice.

Fox or bobcat.... urine.

I saw Fox urine for sale at my feed store just yesterday and we purchased bobcat urine online a few years ago. Workes like a charm and there is zero fear in putting it out.

Yup, you can buy it in a can! Its in a powder form and you sprinkle it around or put small amounts on a little paper plate perhaps and slide it under a cabinet or put it in a corner.

No one is going to eat it and get sick and die. Not even our (or YOUR?) cute new puppy, who really might have chowed down on that yummy traditional rat poison...which literally melts the intestines and causes a slow, torturous death for any animal.

Just ask your vet.

I am most certain he or she has seen the horror of accidental poisoning of a puppy up close and in vivid color and through many tears.

Lennon died in my arms last night.

Lennon died in my arms last night.

The thing is, he didn't really have to, and if I had somehow realized what was happening just a little bit sooner, or we hadn't done the surgery, he might not have died at all.

But we tried to do the right thing. We really did.

Lennon was one of four in a litter of brothers, and we brought them all home in January 2006. When I say "we" I mean my daughter Lauren and I. The rest of the family like animals well enough, but the "boys" were mine and Lauren's. No question.

We named them on the way home from the rescue shelter. Ciello for the grey clouds of that day and the grey on his fur. Angelo, for the boy who was funny and quick and just a bit nearsighted. Dante' for the handsome studious one with the dashing stripe on his face. And Lennon, for John, of course and because he seemed so wise and he was so beautiful, and his fur was softest of all.

We loved all the boys but Lennon, well, he became our favorite quickly. Some days when I was stressed and wiped out, Lauren would carry him to me and say, "Here mom, you always feel better after holding Lennon." And I would. I would indeed.

Lennon had a tumor before. It started out small but grew quickly. We had it removed earlier this year and it was very traumatic for him and also for me and Lauren. The incision was so big and was hard to keep wrapped. We literally spent nights not sleeping, to make sure he did not bite out his stitches and bleed to death. Those weeks of convalescence only made Lennon more loving and more wise and more dear to our hearts.

He learned new games like hide and seek, and had VERY specific places to stash his special toys we kept nearby to keep him entertained while watching him.

So when we found a new tumor a couple of weeks ago we were very worried and concerned. Last week Lauren had me check, and sure enough, it had doubled or more in size in just a couple of days. We consulted the vet. Together, we all decided to remove the tumor immediately, while it was very small, so that hopefully Lennon could manage the surgery easier.

He was scheduled first thing Friday morning. I picked him up that afternoon. Right away I knew something was wrong, he was acting "different" than he did the first time post op. The staff, and I do not fault them for their thinking, told me his behavior was consistent with the meds and the event of surgery.

I held him in my lap the whole way home.

I never put him down for a second. Not after calling the vet a couple of hours later, and worrying and crying, and having my husband race to the emergency after hours vet clinic. I even tried to breathe for him, when I was sure he had stopped, just two blocks from the ER.

Racing inside the clinic I saw the entire room filled with people, their hands on crates and leashes. I was crying and saying how sorry I was but Lennon was not breathing...and I insisted on rushing to the front of the line. They took his limp little body from mine immediately, but I already knew he was either dead or very close to it. They soon brought me to a room, and then came in and said "We are so sorry."

There really is pain...isn't there? A realy physical agony of sudden grief? We stood in the little room only a minute or two longer, waiting for them to bring Lennon back.

A nice little old lady patted my shoulder while I was slowly walking out the door, quietly crying and carrying my still warm little Lennon. She had tears in her eyes. I don't know if they were there for me, Lennon, or for her and her pet or for all of us. But I am grateful for her words, "I am so sorry."

The worst part of all was driving home, knowing I had to tell Lauren, who was at that moment, playing in a musical competition. Hours passed before I could let her know. She had played well enough to move on to round two in her region. Her joyous announcement would be cut short with this terrible, sad news about her beloved Lennon.

We picked Lauren up from the band hall and I held her in the back seat of the truck while she processed the shock and began to weep. We cried and I stroked her hair and told her everything that happened. I told her I kissed our boy 500 times and 300 times were for her...and when we got home we buried Lennon. We wrapped him in his favorite fleece bed and put in his favorite feather toys and put fresh white lilies into the box next to his little body.

Watching the box go into the ground, and our tears dropping along side of it I could not help but remember when Lauren first asked me, years ago, if she could have a pet rat.

A PET RAT???

I literally almost vomited my lunch.

Everyone knows rats were vermin. Everyone knows they were disgusting creatures that bore disease and were vile things worthy only of extermination. Everyone knows rats were vicious, biting, scary and ugly rodents.

Who knew that in reality, domesticated rats can be wonderful, loyal, loving pets? Who knew that that the actual facts are that they are smart, clean, play games and are litter box trainable? Who knew their fur smells like grape soda, they can learn their names and that scientists have proven they actually giggle when people play with them? Who knew that above all else, domesticated rats want nothing more than the physical loving touch of a human being?

My life, and my daughter's life are richer by far, for having known and loved, our beautiful beautiful boy Lennon. We will miss him terribly. We will miss his little kisses and snuffles in our ears, the way he LOVED the tiny pancakes we cooked for him, the way he kept me company on my shoulder while I folded laundry, the wise little eyes looking softly deeply and quietly into our own.

Lennon 2006-2007

Rest in Peace Lennon. We will remember you always, and we will miss you every single day we have left on this earth.

 

I'm Baaaaaaaaaack, with a Dead Bunny Story.

My friend Ron over at Final Taxi had a funny story about someone stealing a handbag that only contained the remains of a dead pet rabbit.

It reminded me of a story:

A little girl’s rabbit dies. She lovingly buries it in her backyard. A neighbor’s new and boisterous dog, smells and digs up the rabbit the next day, bringing it home, the poor little white bunny body matted with mud and debris.

The neighbor, recognizing the rabbit from next door is mortified, thinking his dog has killed the little girl's pet. Rather than face up to what he thinks happened, he washes and carefully blow dries the dead rabbit and puts it back into the hutch, to fool the little girl into thinking that the rabbit died a natural death, one which had nothing to do with his dog.

The little girl finds her bunny, clean and fluffy and still dead, in the hutch the next day and runs screaming back to her house.

Photo of a pet bunny we used to have.

I don’t know if this is a real story or an urban myth thing but it is funny nonetheless. Its also disturbing. Imagine if you had such a scene with a beloved pet as a child. It might really mess with your head.

Timing and Planning are Everything

And then...things like THIS come into your lives..

This is Cowboy. When I took this photograph, he was merely a cute, nameless purebred yellow lab, an auction item to benefit my favorite Therapy Ranch Spiritreins. He was a sweet little guy, and I wondered who might bid on him and bring him home the next weekend.

Little did I know my husband would become smitten and that we would bring Cowboy home the night of the auction.

Every hour scheduled to catch up with work, and post articles and other blogs while I am away for a week-long photoshoot until October 22 fell by the wayside as our home and all of our other animals and our lives shifted to accommodate this little fellow we have named "Cowboy".

In Repose asks for those of you whom we have promised communication to look deep into Cowboy's eyes and forgive us for not getting back to you sooner.

Photographs Made from Ashes

Some of you might know that besides running this business at In Repose I am also an artist and photographer. Most days I work on both pursuits, albeit separately. Sometimes my businesses cross paths and create interesting intersections in my life.

Today I read about Inkafterlife.com. The thing is, before even finishing the news article, I found myself thinking; "I knew this was coming. It was only a matter of time."

I mean, there are urns and paintings and pencils and jewelery, and now, there are ink jet photographs combined with cremation ash available to memorialize your loved one. Starting at 49.00 you can print a grey scale photograph that has ash mixed right into the ink.

I can just hear the photographers I know who print their work at home mulling this one over considering all of the trials and tribulations of ink jet printers, and their piles of prints that were unusable in some way. What if the color is off? A streak on the photograph? What about (gasp!) a paper jam?

Do you just throw away those prints? And from the ashes perspective, there is always the question "How do I know they used my loved one's ashes anyway?" Heck, how do you know they used ashes at all? Wouldn't it tend to clog up the print heads? I should think so.

What about the photo itself?  Will it be a point and shoot of Grandpa that someone took with a 2 megapixel camera at the lowest resolution setting that would look horrible printed up at 8x10? No? Should we send in something nicer? What about using that professional photograph you splurged on last year at the reunion? Wait a second...What about that little thing called COPYRIGHT?

You cannot just send in a professional photographer's print and have it duplicated in anyway by anyone without written permission from the creator of the image. Its illegal.

I looked for any mention of copyright considerations at Inkafterlife.com. I found it in their terms and conditions. 

As a user, you are authorized only to view, copy, print, and distribute documents on this Web site so long as (1) the document is used for informational purposes only, and (2) any copy of the document (or portion thereof) includes the following copyright notice: Copyright © 2007 inkafterlife.com. All rights reserved.

Not one word is mentioned on the website about the copyrights held by photographers nor the way to seek permission to use copyrighted photographs.

My advice would be to spend the 50.00 toward getting a lovely portrait made of your loved ones before they are gone, by a photographer whose style you love. Here is a photograph of my dad and his dog Murphy who lived a long and wonderful 16 years and is sorely missed.

Lets ask my dad if that photo would mean any more to him if her ashes were mixed into the print.

Photograph Copyright Candace Craw-Goldman 2006

My guess is that he would say "No way".

Moscow Opens First Pet Cemetery

Photo of Baba and Raven coutesey ccgart.com

The  new complex also includes a pet hotel, veterinary clinic, a visitor's center and crematory. The cemetery has space for 30,000 pets and prices start at 20 dollars.